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To Aqua, acting was his form of revenge.
Aqua’s acting was mediocre at best, he thought— or rather he knew, figuring whoever had the unfortunate opportunity to be working alongside him to just be giving him the benefit of the doubt. In his mind, he knew how to appease any director’s wishes just by observing the script and their general attitude towards production. All he needed to do was put on a satisfactory performance, and that was it.
Directors favored actors that were easy to work with, after all.
Not that there was much room for improvement to occur anyway— it would, were he someone like Arima or Akane who had passion driving them towards acting, rather than scum like himself who used it as a tool, a mere stepping stone in the overall grand scheme of things like a pawn on a chess board. At least those two were able to improve the quality of a performance by simply just being cast— Aqua didn’t improve anything, he just took the steps to make sure his performance was satisfactory, nothing more, nothing less.
In almost any given situation he’d been able to act out a scene without delving into his own emotions, walking a fine line between the front he put on to act versus his own emotional state. It was easy enough to do, by simply mimicking someone else he was praised, keeping his emotions in check at the same time. Not that Aqua ever wore his emotions for the world to see, that rarely happened, and he’d much rather keep it that way.
Not this time.
With Tokyo Blade, the script demanded intense emotional acting.
So emotional acting Aqua would do.
Driving himself to the point of illness just to draw those kinds of emotions out, the least he could do. Guilt clung to him stubbornly, behind every calculated movement and reaction it festered like an unwanted parasite, burrowing itself deeper into his brain the more time passed— the longer he went on without finding Ai’s killer, his father.
Every time Aqua began to enjoy acting, his panic attacks would trigger, an ugly and obscene reaction he tried to keep concealed from the world, and the world didn’t need the burden of witnessing it either. No matter the circumstances, Gorou would always be looming behind in those moments, reminding him over and over of what his true purpose was until it was so drilled into his head he’d collapse on the ground— mostly from exhaustion. That was the guaranteed outcome in every situation, repeating on loop.
And this time, Aqua hadn’t intended on collapsing during practice, not wanting to draw attention to himself in any way, and he certainly didn’t need anyone doting over him like a child. He wasn’t a child, he could manage his own emotions just fine, keep himself in check.
That was how it was supposed to be.
He could never enjoy acting again. Aqua knew that, even accepted that in this lifetime he wasn’t meant to have happiness. Or at least, he’d keep telling himself that he’d come to terms with his decision no matter how much it stung deep down. Even if he were able to pull back from acting and make an attempt to recover from his trauma like the director suggested, that could take months or years, and that was time Aqua didn’t have to sacrifice when he was in a race against the clock to find his father.
So he’d continue to attempt to convince himself that this was fine. That even if he ended up hurling his guts out every time he thought of Ai during practice, he could handle it. That it was meant to be like that, Hoshino Aqua and suffering went hand in hand together.
It was fine.
But the expressions on his colleagues' faces as he haphazardly brushed off his symptoms was something he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. Their expressions burnt into his retinas, immortalizing themselves, he couldn’t just brush off his symptoms like he’d tried to, because they knew. Akane, Arima, even Melt, had all witnessed the cracks in his façade. His vulnerability.
When Aqua was approached by Melt during their run, he decided to offer up some advice, partially on impulse, but mostly in hopes of burying what the other had witnessed a few weeks prior. He’d been around Akane and Arima enough since then to hopefully ensure they wouldn’t bring up the topic of his panic attack, but Melt was a different story. After all, they were just acquaintances, and Aqua had no idea what kind of reaction to expect from him.
But a small part of him wanted to see the other succeed, and if offering advice would favor that outcome, he was all for it. It was the least he could do, Aqua thought. Giving Melt that little nudge in the right direction to improve his acting. He’d told Melt to utilize his shittiness, that it wasn’t a problem to be seen as crap. A passing thought at the time, really, but to some degree Aqua wanted to see Melt succeed.
It was the least he could do if he wouldn’t allow himself that right, at least someone else would be given the spotlight to shine, to be a star.
Aqua caught a glimpse of Melt as he passed by staying late after rehearsals. He’d made the decision as Akane was occupied until later that evening, and unsure of what else to do, he just stayed for a while. After all, reading over the script for what felt like the hundredth time wasn’t the worst way he could occupy his time.
Seeing Melt there though.. It was almost like a glimpse into something Aqua wasn’t meant to see, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away.
There stood Melt, in the middle of the empty rehearsal room, attempting his sword trick. Aqua watched the cycle of the other male throwing the sword, just to fail every time, followed by a few muttered curse words.
His gaze travelled, noticing the marks left on Melt’s hands from the amount he’d been practicing, his usually otherwise perfect complexion now covered in a nasty array of purple and blue bruising. Aqua shifted weight to his other foot after a moment, coming to the conclusion that he had to step in, leaning against the doorway as he called out, “Hey.”
Melt froze, clearly startled by the sudden intrusion— not expecting anyone else to be around, most likely. And that reaction made sense, after a long day of rehearsals, anyone hanging around rather than choosing to leave would be seen as absurd. “Hoshino? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Aqua responded back, gaze wandering to the clock hanging on the nearby wall, “Rehearsals ended an hour and a half ago.”
It wasn’t just a statement, it was offered in silent questioning as well, wanting to pull out the reasoning for Melt staying behind without explicitly stating so. Aqua’s gaze drifted back towards the other, observing Melt’s body language as he slightly curled in on himself, almost out of embarrassment for being caught staying late, at least that was Aqua’s assumption from reading his body language.
“I know,” Melt started, gaze averting Aqua’s own, “I just.. wanted to get some extra practice in, and lost track of time.” His voice came out almost sheepishly, his hand raising up and finding the back of his neck, not before Aqua picked up on the subtle wince given as his hand made contact with skin— of course, Aqua wasn’t surprised those bruises hurt. Melt had a tight enough grip on the blade handle to leave marks, after all.
Aqua’s gaze drifted and caught the handle of the blade— the visible wear and tear clear as day. He sighed to himself, questioning Melt even though he could already deduct the answer himself, not that it took a genius to do that anyway, “You’ve been in here everyday, haven’t you?”
“I’m just listening to your advice—” Melt started, before biting his lip and shifting away ever so slightly from Aqua’s gaze, out of shame? Or something else entirely? Aqua’s mind quickly ran through the potential possibilities before the other spoke up in a slightly sheepish voice, “..Unless you already forgot about that conversation?”
They’d been out jogging together just a week prior. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. “I’m aware.”
“Utilize your shittiness," Aqua had told him.
And it seemed like Melt was trying to listen, but the way he carried himself through rehearsals spoke a different tune, taking a passive approach to interacting with everyone opposed to how he behaved on the Sweet Today set. Now that Aqua gave it some thought, the difference was so very obvious. Even now, with the way Melt refused to make eye contact with Aqua, eyes darting away, curling in on himself ever so slightly..
Aqua blinked, as if the pieces to the puzzle suddenly connected in his mind.
Guilt, Aqua thought to himself. Guilt was the driving force behind his acting.
Aqua could tell, of course. How hadn’t he realized it before? It didn’t take a genius to see that Melt had it practially written all over his face.
He’s.. just like me.
The thought quietly manifests in the back of Aqua’s mind, slipping through before even having the ability to process the weight of that idea.
No, that was wrong.
Aqua had known Melt felt guilty over Sweet Today, of course, but to this extent?
Melt could’ve decided that acting just wasn’t for him. He had a pretty face after all, he’d succeed as a model just fine, leaving any traces of his acting career in the dust, the Sweet Today ordeal forgotten in the months to come, had he stayed on that path.
But he didn’t. He seemed committed towards improving his acting, taking on Tokyo Blade even though he was the only amateur surrounded by a bunch of professionals— if Melt couldn’t match his acting skills, he’d drag down the entire performance, ruining the entire thing.
Yet here he stood, continuing to push himself to improve despite everything, an admirable trait.
Something that Aqua wasn’t capable of doing himself at this point.
Melt wasn’t like Aqua at all. In the face of hardship, Melt persevered, improved, used his guilt as a kickstart to his self improvement no matter what anyone else said or thought about him. Aqua let his guilt drown him to the point of no return. It was like he was held undersea by an invisible weight, left to drown while Melt soared above, reaching for the stars.
Aqua and Melt— they were two worlds apart.
But at least one of them could still fulfil their potential and succeed. Aqua had given up on his dreams of being an actual actor long ago, after all.
In some twisted way, Aqua could hypothetically live out his dreams through seeing Melt succeed, couldn’t he? If a little push or nudge here and there was what was needed, he would do so. Was it selfish? Of course, and Aqua was well aware of it. Pushing those expectations onto someone unsuspecting was selfish, even if he never allowed himself to voice those thoughts. And yet, here he was, silently rooting for Melt’s success.
That must be it. Aqua’s own selfish desire being the fuel behind giving the other advice in the first place—
“Hoshino?”
Melt’s voice cut through his train of thought.
Of course he’d speak up. Aqua had been lost in his train of thought, drawing silent conclusions that no one else would ever see surface.
“I’m fine, sorry,” Aqua finally spoke after a moment passed, shaking his head and turning his back to Melt as he began to exit the room. He’d agreed to practice with Akane, after all, he needed to get a grip on his emotions before the opening night. There was still so much to do, but so little time.
“Keep up the good work, Narushima. You should ice those bruises, too.” A word of advice left as Aqua made his otherwise wordless exit, and even he was unsure of why he was backtracking so fast. It wasn’t like he needed an instant out of the situation— Melt wasn’t a bad guy, not by any means.
He didn’t dare turn back to look at Melt, exiting faster than intended, to the point where he didn’t even catch if the other said anything in response to his sudden departure. Not that Aqua expected anything— the two weren’t even friends, it would be childish to expect anything more.
But if Melt continued the way he currently was, he’d surely become a star. Someone who could shine bright and prove that he had a place on stage— prove that he had a place in the world of acting.
That he belonged.
And that was the difference between the two of them. A bittersweet truth that they were two worlds apart, and Aqua would keep reminding himself of that.